Lifelong romance addict JC HARROWAY lives in New Zealand. Writing feeds her very real obsession with happy endings and the endorphin rush they create. You can follow her at jcharroway.com, facebook.com/jcharroway, instagram.com/jcharroway and twitter.com/jcharroway.

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A Week to be Wild

JC Harroway

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For D, who loved a good romance.

CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

OLIVIA NOBLE WALKED behind the elderly professor, passing through the chrome-and-glass doors etched with the name of the swanky restaurant on the thirty-first floor of The Shard, London’s tallest building. Her belly, jittery enough from the long, hair-raising elevator ride, flipped at the panoramic views dotted with the city’s iconic landmarks. As a native New Yorker she accepted gravity-defying skyscrapers as part of life, but she avoided ones of this magnitude wherever possible.

‘Ah, the others are still at the bar.’

Professor McBride gestured Libby ahead of him, towards the party of suits. Libby’s legs wobbled on her four-inch heels as she crossed the plush carpet, trying to master the hold adrenaline had on her body. Her poor adrenal glands were wrung dry. This sophisticated, elegant restaurant might as well have been a roadside diner for all she noticed.

Head of her own marketing business in New York, she was used to public speaking. That didn’t mean she enjoyed it, or that nerves hadn’t gripped her for the whole forty-minute presentation she’d given this morning at the London Business School. In fact, she’d been blown away when invited to speak at such a prestigious seminar, unaware that anyone across the pond had even heard of her small up-and-coming company.

The rest of the speakers were clustered at the bar, forming small huddles, deep in conversation. Several glanced up as Libby and Professor McBride approached—faces she recognised from the seminar, and one face in particular that demanded more than a fair share of her attention. A face that was hard to ignore.

Alex Lancaster.

His stare lifted from the conversation taking place before him, settling on her over the tops of the heads separating them and practically stripping her bare. A shiver originated in her ovaries and snaked south to join the wobble in her legs. Those eyes… The intensity with which they pierced the recipient of his undivided attention…

Wow. Close up he was… Wow. A movie-star bad boy, a gentleman rogue and a geeky surfer dude all rolled into one mouthwatering package. Not that he had much of the surfer dude on display at the moment, attired as he was in a tailored three-piece suit that had probably cost more than the annual mortgage payment on her modest six-hundred-square-foot apartment. The only nod to his wilder side was the slightly dishevelled flop of dark hair, which looked as if it refused to be tamed, no matter what he did.

Libby clenched her thighs together, her twitchy fingers gripping her bag.

‘Glass of wine, my dear?’ Professor McBride asked.

Libby nodded, her eyes hot as she stared back at Alex Lancaster for longer than was polite or wise. Likely she was not the only woman in the room who found that staring at this disarmingly attractive specimen of manhood pushed semipornographic visions into her head.

She rolled her shoulders and looked away, blinking the burn from her eyes. A snort gusted over her top lip. Who was she kidding? Her thoughts veered firmly towards the absolutely pornographic where he was concerned. She tugged at the hem of her tailored jacket. Time to get her head back in the game.

She was a professional, a well-respected member of the business community who owned her own successful marketing business—credentials that had prompted her invitation to London to speak at the ‘Inspiring Business Leaders of the Future’ seminar.

She darted her attention back to Professor McBride and his lengthy introductions to those closest, all the while willing her greedy eyes to stay away from the lure of Mr Lancaster, the only other person close to her age in the group.

Libby zoned out of the tedious conversation, discreetly blowing through pursed lips and lifting wisps of escaped hair from her too-warm face. How could that man have such a profound effect on her? Perhaps her PA was right, and she did need a ‘good seeing to’. She’d have to give the perceptive Scotsman a raise, or finally sign up to that dating app he kept shoving in front of her.

Mmm…maybe not.

Fickle thoughts drifted back to the smokin’ billionaire across the restaurant. Forget swiping left or right. She could just swipe him out of that suit, tangle her fingers in that too-long hair while she directed his smart, arrogant head south… The dark scruff covering his angular face scraping across her sensitive inner thighs…

Whew! Potent stuff. There must be something in the English water—it was the only explanation for her train of thought.

She cleared her perilously tight throat, yanking her mind out of the gutter, her gaze from the toes of her favourite shoes and her attention back to the drone of Professor McBride’s voice.

‘…and this is Alex Lancaster, one of our former golden boys, university benefactor and the major sponsor of today’s seminar—although I’m sure he needs no introduction.’

Professor McBride’s ass-kissing drawled to a close as his attention was requested by a university faculty member with a penchant for purple highlights and matching purple accessories.

Before she could mentally prepare herself for the close-up impact of his dazzling good looks, Alex had enclosed Libby’s hand in his larger one, setting off a cascade of tingles; little flicks of flame dancing along her wrist and raising the hairs on her arm.

Damn…

Smokin’ was an insult. Brains, business acumen and indecent levels of sex appeal—Alex Lancaster had certainly won the genetic lottery.

And of course she knew of him. Everyone knew of him. Besides, she’d done her research prior to flying in yesterday. One of Britain’s youngest billionaires, he wasn’t the richest, but his reputation for intuitive, if not somewhat reckless, business decisions was surpassed only by his brooding charisma and the dazzling smile that somehow managed to appeal to women of all ages.

Perhaps it was the single dimple in his cheek—simultaneously boyish and wicked. Or the incredible expressive eyes the colour of burnt sugar that regularly stared out from the glossy magazine covers he graced. Either way, he was utterly disarming. So much so that her voice completely deserted her—no doubt it was attending the ‘Get Alex Lancaster Naked’ rally being hosted by her libido and sponsored by her erogenous zones.

‘Ms Noble. Great talk.’

His mouth kicked up, unleashing the full force of that dimple. Damn, that smile could melt the underwear clean off her body. And his voice: smoky…rich bourbon in a cut-glass tumbler.

Her sharp, tight-fitting suit—her signature outfit—transformed into a straitjacket. It was the only explanation for the hot flush misting her skin and the prickle of every tiny hair covering her body.

‘Nice to meet you, Mr Lancaster.’

Libby pulled her hand from his. Not that the move offered relief from the inferno engulfing her. He was too close. Too virile. Too everything.

Get a grip, Libby. He’s just another suit.

Right—if by ‘suit’ she meant a walking advertisement for ‘Hot Boardroom Dudes’. Perhaps he could start an internet craze. She’d be the first to sign up.

‘You deserve every scrap of your reputation.’ He rubbed his knuckles over one lightly stubbled cheek, his dark gaze sparkling.

Libby’s missing-in-action tongue returned to her mouth. ‘Well, that’s a rare talent, Mr Lancaster—one that the gossip rags and business pages fail to credit you with.’

Libby wiped her palm along the length of her skirt, her body half turned away from him so he wouldn’t see the gesture that gave away the effect he had on her. The thought of this man’s focus honed on her, even simply her online business profile, shunted heat to the most inconvenient places.

At his small frown, she continued. ‘Perfectly disguising an insult within a compliment.’

She glanced over his shoulder, raising her eyebrows in acknowledgement of someone she recognised as she made to bypass him.

‘Excuse me.’

Arrogant, sexy…

He laughed. A head-thrown-back bellow that forced more gold flecks into the burnt caramel of his irises.

A waiter blocked Libby’s escape route with the delivery of her Pinot Gris, the elegant wine glass glistening with condensation. She bestowed her politest smile on the handsome waiter, still preparing to walk away from the charismatic jerk before her. Even if he was pleasing on the eye and the six-foot-three embodiment of most women’s filthiest fantasises. Fantasies she’d never imagined until she’d slid her eyes over Mr Testosterone there.

‘Forgive me…’ His hand on her arm stilled her. ‘What I should have said is that yours was by far the most entertaining of the lectures given this morning. I’ve heard of your work. I’m a businessman and I keep abreast of international business news.’

His mouth caressed the lip of his own wine glass, and he held her gaze over the rim, a mix of devilment and challenge warring for control in his slightly narrowed, sinfully provocative stare.

His hand, still on her arm, burned a hole through the fine wool of her favourite jacket. Large, tanned, with a sprinkling of dark hair smattering the wrist that poked from the cuff of his expensive linen shirt. Slight calluses marred the perfection of his long, elegant fingers, and she glimpsed clean square nails before he withdrew.

She had the absurd urge to ask him if he had a daily manicure. Was that how pampered British billionaires filled their days? Of course it was dwarfed by other urges that involved those large callused hands and her nipples.

It really had been too long…

Free from his touch, she regained her composure, her intellect wrestling it free from the clutches of her hormone-riddled body.

‘I see. I’m sorry I can’t return the compliment. I missed your talk.’

And she’d never worked for any IT giant. Why would she have crossed his radar?

Still looking at her as if his X-ray vision had burned holes through her clothing down to her lacy underwear, he shrugged one large shoulder.

His charcoal-grey suit encased his frame like a glove. She’d bet her beloved cat, Dumbledore, that it was cashmere—probably bespoke Savile Row. A copper-coloured tie brought out those ridiculous sparks of fire in his eyes and highlighted his decadent, cry-worthy black lashes.

Libby curled her fingers into her palms to stop herself fanning her flushed face.

Back to her escape plan.

As if anticipating her, he stepped sideways, facing her full-on, his broad chest eclipsing her vision. ‘I’m glad I met you today. I’d like your professional advice, actually.’

He took another sip of wine, his bold stare raking her face and dipping to her throat. If he’d gone any lower this conversation would be over, regardless of his pretty face and intriguing request.

‘Perhaps we could sit together…discuss it over lunch?’ Then came the eyebrow lift. Perfectly executed, devastatingly tempting.

Had her body not reacted so overwhelmingly towards him, she might have agreed. The company he’d founded in his late teens, Lancaster IT, had gone global in recent years, with sales of its software to the Asian healthcare market shunting its drool-worthy founder and CEO from wealthy to obscene. Any business association her marketing company might have with the new IT giant making international waves would surely provide her with the kudos she needed to take her own business to the next level.

But she abhorred arrogance. Alex Lancaster was not only renowned for fly-by-the-seat-of-his-pants business decisions that left wiser, more experienced competitors shaking in their hand-stitched Oxfords, but his personal life was equally reckless. Just thinking about this daredevil playboy’s antics brought her out in an icy chill.

She demurred—after all, he was incredibly influential. ‘I’m flattered. If you ask your assistant to call mine, I’m sure we can set something up.’

She took an embossed business card from her purse and passed it to him, careful to keep her fingertips away from the thrill of his.

‘Although my personal client workload at present has me a little over-committed.’

What was she saying? This was a dream scenario for her small but growing business. Was she palming off an account of this magnitude on to one of her juniors? Seriously? All because he was twice as hot in person, made her thighs tremble and soaked her expensive lingerie—her one indulgence.

He flipped the card between his fingers in a continuous hypnotic loop of digital gymnastics. Mesmerising. What else could he do with those talented fingers?

Libby dragged her gaze away. His sexy stare was back. Pinning her heels to the carpet. Normally she tolerated awkward silences, especially in business settings. But he rocked her cool composure.

‘It—It’s all there…on my website.’ Babbling. A successful twenty-eight-year-old businesswoman with a master’s degree in marketing was babbling.

He didn’t once glance at the card, which still tumbled lazily between his long, tanned fingers. ‘I’d really like your personal input. You’ve done wonders for Kids Count.’

Why would her work for a small US charity interest him? Although it had landed her a prestigious industry award.

His lips caressed his wine glass, his eyes watching her over the rim. ‘I’m involved with a charity too.’

He tucked the card into the inside pocket of his jacket, close to his chest.

The gesture, strangely intimate, made heat pool low in her belly. She definitely needed to get laid.

Tonight.

‘I’m willing to pay.’

His talk of payment sealed the deal. ‘I’m sorry.’

Heralding from one of the UK’s most affluent families, and growing up in the family business, he had founded his first company on a ten thousand pound loan from his businessman father.

Well, some things weren’t for sale.

No doubt he was used to getting everything he wanted. Calling the shots. Bossing people around. Well, not this chick.

Liar. He could boss her around in the bedroom any time.

‘I’d be happy to connect you with Sonya, my top marketing executive and business partner—although she’s soon to go on maternity leave so I suggest you get in quick.’

No way could she work personally with this man. Not after a simple glance across a room and a professional, perfectly polite handshake had triggered a full-blown hormone implosion. Images of them tangled in the crisp white sheets of her king-sized hotel bed rocked her back on her heels. Would he be as demanding in the bedroom? And would she concede, give him what he wanted? She could make a few sexual demands of her own…

The tip of his tongue traced along his lower lip—a snake-charming manoeuvre that held her gaze captive for long, silent seconds. She shook her head, dragging her eyes away.

Her libidinous thoughts stunned her. Perhaps he’d doused himself in genetically modified pheromones?

Time to get away from him and his unsettling magnetism.

‘Nice to meet you.’ Libby abandoned polite convention and kept her hand by her side. Best not to touch him again in case she needed to rush to the bathroom and put herself out of her own misery.

As if he knew her thoughts, he let a half grin dance on his twisted mouth. His chin lifted, lazy eyes raking her. ‘The pleasure was all mine, Olivia.’

He delivered her name with a cut-crystal English accent and a side helping of gravel that spoke directly to all her wide-awake lady parts.

Libby winced, wishing her laptop’s webcam would explode.

‘You said what? Are you crazy?’ Sonya rubbed her rounded belly, twisting on the sofa and putting her feet up on the low coffee table in Libby’s New York office.

This video call and the five-hour time difference between New York and London meant her right-hand woman was taking her lunch break, relaxing on Libby’s sofa. Apparently it was more comfortable than the sofa in Sonya’s office—although Libby suspected her friend just missed having her to bounce ideas off. They were a great team. More than that.

Sonya’s face filled the screen as she leaned forward, peering through cyberspace. ‘I can’t possibly do that account justice in the time I have left.’ She flopped back on the cushions, as if the act of merely speaking exhausted her. ‘Why would you even suggest me? He clearly wants you. And you’re there, on the ground.’

Sonya took a bite from her sandwich and shoved another cushion into the small of her back.

They usually ate lunch together on days when they were both in the office, discussing accounts and synching their diaries. Today, for some inexplicable reason—she blamed jet lag—Libby had shared the details of her meeting with Alex Lancaster and now had to pay the price.

‘He’s arrogant—and surprisingly rude for an Englishman.’

And sexy as fuck, with dreamy eyes, and an edge that made her want to defy him to see what happened…

‘Throwing his money around.’

And looking at her as if she was a medium rare steak and he’d been living off beans for months.

Right, and she hadn’t objectified him at all? His tight ass in his perfectly tailored trousers? No? Her gaze hadn’t once dipped to the bulge at his crotch, wondering what lay beneath the fine fabric?

Of course she couldn’t tell Sonya about her body’s insane, treacherous reaction to him. Sonya had known Callum. She’d read something into her meeting with Alex Lancaster that simply hadn’t been there. And she definitely couldn’t confide her surprising fantasies to her bestie. She barely knew where they’d come from herself. No. It was just unfortunate timing.

Three years without sex really was too long. She hated to concede it, but her assistant, Vinnie, was right.

‘So?’ Her friend waggled a finger at the camera. ‘It’s business. This account and his contacts could help us expand into Europe, Asia—the world.’

Sonya’s ‘duh’ look of incredulity soured Libby’s tea—a less than satisfactory brew made from the meagre selection in her hotel room. She pushed it away, sipping water from a bottle instead, stalling for time.

Refusing to hear his proposal didn’t make sense. Business sense. But instinct had brought her this far in her success story, and the same instinct told her to stay away from Alex Lancaster. He was just too charismatic, charming, virile. Nope. Her reaction to him this afternoon confirmed it; he was dangerous.

She didn’t do danger. And despite his enormous accomplishments, she couldn’t abide his reputation for recklessness.

‘Well, if you take the account the effects for the company will be the same.’ She plastered on her best convincing smile. ‘There’s a hefty bonus in it. Think of all the baby stuff you could buy.’

Wow, low blow, Libby. Cheap shot.

Sonya huffed. Probably she was too uncomfortable to appreciate the merits of Libby’s inducements.

‘No way. I won’t have time. I’ll end up handing it over to you anyway, when I go on maternity leave. And, to be honest, I should have quit by now. I don’t want to have this baby in the elevator with only Vinnie for assistance. You know how he fusses. I’d end up killing him and then where would you be?’

A queasy roll of the stomach put an end to Libby’s thoughts of popping out for dinner. She’d yet to find a temporary stand-in for Sonya—the would-be candidates they’d interviewed so far had been woefully inadequate to fill such capable shoes.

The pair were cut from the same cloth. Had studied at the same college. The same business school. When Libby had started out, Sonya had come on board and they’d created Noble and Pullman, investing in the joint venture, teaching each other as much as they’d learned from each other.

Any day now, there was going to be a substantial Sonya-shaped hole left in their small but precious company.

As if he’d heard his name mentioned, Vinnie, Libby’s outspoken and at times frankly inappropriate PA, entered her office, poking his head over Sonya’s shoulder so his face filled the screen. She waved, relieved to have a reprieve from justifying her inexplicable reluctance to work with Lancaster IT—or rather its sexy founder.

‘How are things going, Vinnie? Any more responses?’ She’d approached a few medium-sized firms here in London, hoping to drum up a little new business before she returned home in a few days.

‘No’ really.’

Vinnie spoke with a thick Scottish brogue she failed to understand most days.

‘Do you want me to make some follow-up calls?’

Libby sighed. She was good at her job. Could sell anything. But still she sometimes struggled to sell herself. Never quite outgrowing her humble, wrong-side-of-the-tracks beginnings.

‘No. I’ll take care of it—and if I can’t see anyone I’ll just be a tourist for a few days. Perhaps I’ll meet the Queen.’

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d taken any holiday, and the two worried faces peering back at her from her laptop screen confirmed that her suggestion wasn’t just alien to her.

She needed a change of subject, before Vinnie pulled up a list of London’s singles clubs and Sonya told her—again—that it was ‘time to move on’.

‘Are you taking care of Sonya?’

Her friend’s eyes rolled.

Vinnie smiled. ‘Well, you know what she’s like… Let’s just say I’m trying. If I end up delivering this wee one…’ he stroked Sonya’s belly and she batted him away ‘…I want a bonus.’

They all chuckled, but the sound held a nervous undertone. Libby shouldn’t have left the helm at such a crucial time. She’d been lured by the all-expenses-paid trip to a city she’d always dreamed of visiting and had been flattered that they’d asked for her personally to speak at the conference.

‘I came in to tell you I’ve had Alex Lancaster on the phone this morning. He called asking for your personal number,’ said Vinnie.

Libby straightened in her chair, her heart thumping double time.

‘Don’t worry, hen. I didn’t give it to him—although he’s a determined young fella.’

Libby pressed her lips together. Vinnie needed no encouragement for the ridiculous things he said. ‘Young fella’ hardly did Alex Lancaster justice.

‘He seemed to know where you’re staying, so he may call. Said he had a “business proposition”.’ Vinnie made air quotes, a small smirk on his face. ‘And wanted to discuss it before you left the UK.’

The one mouthful of tepid tea she’d managed sloshed inside Libby’s hollow insides.

Sonya’s eyes rounded to the size of her pregnant belly. She lumbered into a sitting position, glaring into the webcam. ‘He really wants you.’ Her shrewd eyes narrowed.

Libby chewed her lip, evading comment. The last thing she needed was this unlikely pair of would-be matchmakers getting the wrong idea about Alex Lancaster’s intentions and her own position. She’d already said too much.

Flutters invaded her chest at the thought of speaking to him, of seeing him again. Stop. She didn’t have to take his call. She’d already heard his proposition. Her answer would be the same.

With that, the hotel phone rang on the desk next to her, making all three of them jump. She stared at the device for two or three rings, frozen. It had to be him. No one else knew where she was, with the exception of the two people staring at her with excitement and intrigue shining in their eyes.

‘Answer it,’ Sonya said, gesturing wildly at Libby to accept the call.

They waited. Expectant. Sometimes it sucked that these two knew her so well.

Rolling her shoulders back, she chided herself. Act professional. He was just a businessman. Just another potential client. Libby covered her mouth with her index finger, shushing them. Then turned the laptop away so it faced the wall. Sonya and Vinnie would hear her side of the conversation, but they wouldn’t see her face while she answered the call.

‘Libby Noble.’ Shit, her voice was all breathy—as if she’d run a marathon.

She relaxed her clenched fingers, slipping her feet from her shoes under the desk and flexing her toes into the plush pile of the carpet. Libby’s neck burned, just knowing that Sonya and Vinnie were listening from the laptop beside her. They’d worked and played alongside her for the last four years, seeing her at her best and at her worst. Although the ‘play’ had been virtually nonexistent since Callum’s death.

‘Olivia—Alex Lancaster here.’

His voice rasped down the line, scraping at her earlobe. She rolled her eyes. Why couldn’t he have a normal voice? A boring monotone that left her cold?

Libby cleared her tight throat. ‘Mr Lancaster.’ That was better. Clipped, curt, taking no shit. ‘How can I help you?’

He chuckled. The bastard actually chuckled. ‘You can call me Alex, you know.’

His voice was huskier over the phone, his dashing accent stronger—or perhaps without the visual distraction, her senses were more acutely attuned to every nuance of him.

Fantastic.

‘I hoped to persuade you to reconsider my offer.’

Just listening to him speak made her think of sex. His voice, deep and authoritative, screamed control. It should be a real turn-off. She hated being told what to do. Perhaps it was the change in time zones, messing with her biorhythms. She smoothed a crease from her skirt, her restless fingers needing something to do. Something other than itching to twist through his decadent flop of hair.

‘I thought we’d concluded things this morning.’

‘Had we?’

All she’d really concluded was that she was ridiculously attracted to him, and that her hormones were securely at the helm, sailing the Libby ship into uncharted waters. Waters fraught with wild fantasies. Just a hint of danger. Enough to thrill.

‘I wanted to tell you a bit more about the project. I think I mentioned I’m chief executive of a charity based here in London.’

Had he? She’d been too focussed on the rasp of his hand and the head-rush caused by his spicy scent.

‘It’s called Able-Active. Have you heard of it?’

Libby spun a pen on the desk, its hypnotic circling matching the frequency and rhythm of Alex’s rumbling speech. Autocratic, imposing, seductive… She could listen to him for hours…especially if he talked dirty.

‘No, I’m sorry. I haven’t.’

Her own voice was relatively low and husky for a woman. But his curled itself around her like a comfort blanket—warm, sensual and with just enough scrape to bring to life every nerve ending in her body. Particularly those tightly clustered between her legs.

‘Yes. And there’s my problem. At the moment the charity can only accept participants from the South East. I want to extend it throughout the UK’s other major cities. There are a lot of kids with different needs out there, Olivia—kids who deserve the experiences Able-Active provides.’

He’d pricked her interest. ‘What kind of charity?’

She quickly typed Able-Active into the search engine on her mobile phone and brought up the website.

‘It’s for kids with all kinds of different abilities. A recreational adventure centre, outward bound type of thing.’

‘I see. Well, I wish you luck with that venture, Mr Lancaster. It sounds very worthwhile.’

Damn him—couldn’t he have a few obvious flaws? Bad breath, poor taste, a warped sense of humour…?

‘It is worthwhile and…’

He paused, as if he sought the right word. Perhaps Mr Ruthless McReckless had a soft centre…

‘It’s important to me. That’s why I want the best people working on it.’

Ooh, flattery.

‘I’ve done my research. The best people is you. I read about your award. And the CEO of Kids Count wrote a very flattering piece about you in Charity Times.’

Silence settled, thick and cloying, pushing Libby back into the chair. Of course he’d researched her. He’d hinted as much this morning with his comment about her reputation. He was an astute businessman, intuitive, quick witted, driven. Any self-respecting would-be employer would do his homework.

She’d done the same; spent most of the afternoon scouring the internet and his website. Of course she’d missed any mention of his charity work. Too busy drooling over pictures of him shirtless on some exotic island. Too focussed on replaying his TED talks over and over just to hear the scrape of his voice. And too absorbed in imagining what he looked like under his urbane business suits.

This smacked of a personal crusade. No. He probably applied the same drive and determination to any enterprise he was involved with.

She remained silent. Why this reluctance to work with him? He brought something out in her—some perverse streak of her personality that revelled in denying his wishes. A battle of wills? Not very mature of her and bad for business.

‘Any number of firms could handle that kind of strategy.’

Yes, she’d worked on a campaign for the American charity, but surely he could find what he needed here in the UK.

He gave a small sigh. ‘Look, I get what I want, Olivia. You’ve proved yourself to have a clear and savvy understanding of the current social media climate. You have a flair for clever and innovative imagery and Kids Count are benefitting markedly. I want the same for my charity.’

His charity?

‘That’s why I put your name forward to the London Business School when they approached me to speak at today’s seminar.’

She stifled a gasp. He’d personally recommended her? And, as he sponsored the conference, he’d flown her here all expenses paid—including this hotel room. Her gaze skittered to the bed. The image of him naked and sprawled there, telling her what he wanted with that upper crust voice of his made her heart hammer. Not that she’d give it to him.

I get what I want. His arrogance…

Again, her mind veered. Did he want her? Fantasise about them together as she’d done since the moment she’d met him? Well, as much as it would cost her, both professionally and personally, she’d have to show him he didn’t always get what he wanted.

She cleared her throat. ‘Well, I hope you have yourself the best accountant over there at Able-Active. Not many start-up charities have such a large marketing budget.’

Her personal services didn’t come cheap, no matter how attractive the man paying the check.

‘You let me worry about that. Can you start tomorrow?’

Arrogant, presumptive asshole.

‘Mr Lancaster. Throwing money at me won’t change my mind.’

If anything, it made her inclined to hang up. Unlike Mr Sexy Billionaire, she hadn’t lived a privileged childhood full of skiing holidays and the right private schools. Her daddy didn’t own a super-yacht—in fact, she didn’t have a daddy. Like her single parent mother, she’d worked hard every day for everything she had, and she appreciated every cent she spent—despite the designer clothes she wore and her top-of-the-range car. Frivolous was not a word in Libby’s vocabulary.

‘Well, what will change your mind?’

His voice dropped to a sultry drawl. The one she imagined was his bedroom voice.

Imagined or hoped?

Had he asked her to work for his IT company she’d have already ended this conversation. Her eyes drifted over the images on the Able-Active website. Smiling faces…kids joyously experiencing the thrill and accomplishment of some outdoor adventure.

‘It’s very important to me, Olivia.’

The way he spoke her name—her full name—as if it was their little secret.

‘Why?’ She whispered the request, as if the intimacy of his answer warranted such secrecy. Alex Lancaster—full of intriguing contradictions?

‘Personal reasons.’ The pitch of his voice lifted a fraction. ‘I had a sister.’

Had?

‘Let me offer a sweetener.’

He didn’t want to talk about his sister. This she understood. She had no-go areas in her past too.

‘Lancaster IT’s marketing contract is up for renewal in two months. If you help me out with Able-Active the contract is yours.’

She gasped. ‘Regardless of how good my work is? That’s ridiculous.’

Was he mad? How had he become so successful so young? Rash decisions and financial extravagance wouldn’t have cut it. She’d been right about him. Reckless.

‘Just do what you did for Kids Count and I’ll be happy.’

Mmm… What would a happy Alex look like? Libby vacillated. Sonya was right. A high-profile account like his would shunt their company into the big league. Finally reward them for years of hard work. Surely she could control her startling attraction to him for long enough to get the job done and get out? And hadn’t she been hoping to attract new business while here in the UK? This was a dream scenario landing in her lap.

Still she wavered.

A compromise?

‘Perhaps Sonya could mock up some drafts and I’ll step in once she goes on maternity leave.’

That made no sense. What was wrong with her? She flushed, knowing Sonya could hear the gibberish coming out of her mouth. Libby was here. Sonya was in New York and about to deliver her baby any day.

‘I want you.’

Not fair.

She closed her eyes as her overactive libido spun off into fantasyland, taking her pounding heart along for the ride. How would it feel to be the recipient of that bare statement in another time, another context? Would he give her what her body clearly craved? A couple of mind-blowing orgasms? Nothing more. Would she concede to his control, loosen the tight command she subjected every aspect of her own life to just for one blissful minute? Give him everything?

She slowed her rapid breaths and mentally slapped herself. She was a hard-assed career woman. She employed twenty people, won lucrative contracts and industry awards. She didn’t crumble when faced with an attractive employer. No matter how intense his golden eyes or how sin-dipped his gravelly voice. And, these days, she never conceded control. It wasn’t worth the risk.

But this made good business sense. A connection of this visibility would allow her to pick and choose Sonya’s stand-in. And by the time her friend returned from maternity leave they’d be ready to take on the world.

She’d have to be careful. Despite her daydreams, a man like Alex would quickly take anything she gave.

She sucked in a breath, confident in her abilities to handle him. Decided, she was all business.

‘I’ll have my assistant contact yours to make the arrangements.’ Libby lifted her chin, although she knew he couldn’t see the gesture.

‘I’ll have the contracts drawn up.’

She could almost hear his victory grin slither down the phone line.

‘Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Lancaster.’

She hung up, all the air leaving her in rush, one word lingering in her dry mouth. Pleasure. Would it be?

When her face felt cooler to the touch, she turned back to her laptop screen and her colleagues.

Their grins said it all.

Damn. What had she done?

CHAPTER TWO

ALEX LANCASTER STOPPED the treadmill and reached for the towel he’d thrown over the handrail, using it to the wipe the sting of sweat from his eyes. He preferred to run in the Oxfordshire countryside, or along the banks of the River Thames. But on the nights when he stayed in the city his office treadmill just had to suffice. And today he needed to push himself twice as hard to outrun the restlessness.

Despite his forty-minute workout, thoughts of the enigma that was Olivia Noble had dogged his every step.

Briefly checking his phone for urgent messages, he clicked off the TV that dominated one wall of his spacious office, silencing the business news, and headed for the en-suite shower.

Alex ducked his head under the pounding spray, ignoring the flicker of interest from his cock—a renewed flicker brought on by the curvy, sophisticated brunette. He’d admired her enough from afar, but in person she’d blown him away. Sassy, shrewd, cutting through his bullshit, as she’d no doubt call it.

He closed his eyes, recalling the sexy timbre of her husky voice. She spoke as if she had a bad case of laryngitis or a lifelong smoking habit. She didn’t have either. He’d scoured every detail he could find about her on the internet, filling in the blanks with his vivid, slightly perverted imagination.

An imagination inspired by the thick, glossy dark hair she wore fastened at her nape in an elegant ponytail, by the provocative curve of her rounded hips concealed by the figure-hugging pencil skirts she wore and the tiny glimpse of pale, creamy cleavage he’d seen that morning when she’d moved away from him, her blouse tugging across her breasts and revealing just enough to make him hard for the rest of the day.

Of course their verbal spat on the phone hadn’t helped either.

He scrubbed shampoo into his scalp, his fingertips punishing. He’d never had to work so hard to entice someone to work with him. His employees loved him. He gave them stellar health insurance cover, more holidays than were legally required and fat bonuses for a job well done. He even offered his top software designers and their families a week’s stay a year at his boutique winery in Oxfordshire as a loyalty inducement. Consequently, he retained his best staff in what was a highly competitive global industry.

Olivia Noble had almost sounded insulted when he’d discussed her fee. Surely she wasn’t that naive? Like it or not, money made the world go round—any good businessperson knew that. And, from his research, Olivia certainly deserved the title—something that doubled her allure in his mind.

She had graduated first in her year with a Bachelor of Commerce degree, had a master’s degree in marketing, and in four years had taken her company from a start-up to one of the top ten marketing firms in New York. Her work on the high-profile Kids Count charity had dragged her from obscurity to his attention.

Did her reluctance have anything to do with the sparks of chemistry that seemed to arc between them? Did she feel it too? That almost frenzied pull?

He soaped himself more vigorously, turning the dial on the shower down to tepid, to cool the blaze she’d evoked.

She’d wanted nothing to do with him earlier today. He’d planned to woo her to work with him over the lunch put on by the Business School. But she’d acted as if she couldn’t get away quickly enough. Straight talking, no simpering or inane flattery.

And hadn’t that been a big fucking turn-on? Another point in Ms Noble’s favour.

Most women he met struggled to conceal the spark of excitement in their eyes, as if in meeting him they’d been handed a winning lottery ticket. Sadly, regardless of how attractive they were or how much they shared in common, he could never quite be sure their interest was in him the person or him the young entrepreneur listed on Forbes.

Not that Olivia had been able to fully conceal the flush of her chest or the rapid flutter of the pulse in her neck. He’d felt it too. The immediate slug of fascination that had had his head swivelling in a double-take the minute she’d stepped onto the stage to deliver her speech to the packed auditorium of keen undergraduates.

And close up… He’d had to discreetly adjust his cock in his slim-fit trousers as she’d walked away from their frustratingly brief interaction, trailing a light floral scent in her wake. He’d wanted to follow her, his nose to the ground like a bloodhound, sniffing at her sexy four-inch stilettos.

Roughly towelling himself dry, he analysed their arduous phone conversation. Why was the delectable Ms Noble so reluctant to take the account? He’d seen her body of work. She was amply capable of running both the Able-Active marketing strategy and that of Lancaster IT. The majority of her current client base was situated in the States. Surely she saw the benefits of expanding globally? And why had her initial refusal stung his modest ego? Lancaster IT ranked in the Financial Times ‘Global 500’, so it couldn’t be his professional credentials.

He slipped into jeans and a clean shirt, selecting a blazer from the supply he kept at work. He grabbed his phone, frustration mounting. He’d grown accustomed to getting what he wanted, and if things went against him, he made them work. Refused to give up.

Perhaps Olivia’s aversion was to him personally.

No, that didn’t make sense. She hadn’t been able to hide her body’s unconscious reaction any more than he’d been able to hide his. She must share his personal interest—her reluctance was for mixing the two. But they were similar in many ways. Driven. Career-focussed.

He’d just have to convince her they could have the best of both worlds. That they needed to scratch this itch and then put it aside and focus on the important work ahead. Rewarding work. Work that would make a real difference and allow him to put some of his wealth into creating change. Or at least help him atone for Jenny…

He swallowed, forcing his mind away from a well-worn, unwanted path. He had to move forward. Use past mistakes to make good future decisions.

He blew out a slow, controlled sigh, his mind returning to Olivia. She’d eventually relented, her manner turning brisk, putting him in his place.

His cock twitched again, and impatience urged him to fire a brief text to his driver.

By the time he was seated in the back of his car, speeding through the streets of London, now devoid of rush-hour traffic, he’d formulated a charm offensive.

If a lucrative business deal couldn’t tempt out her reluctant smile, he’d have to find other inducements.

Libby sighed. Her fingers absently swirled the stirrer in her martini and the general hubbub of the hotel bar behind her faded to background noise.

She’d longed to sleep, to enjoy the luxurious tub in her deluxe room and put today behind her. But, jet-lagged, fractious and horny from her encounters with Alex, sleep had drifted further out of reach with each passing minute. The alcohol wouldn’t help—not with the sleeplessness or the horniness—but sitting in the impersonal confines of her beige room, thinking about Alex and his offer, wasn’t an option.

It was a good offer. Before meeting him she’d have jumped at it. But now…?

The more time she spent with the captivating business man, the greater the risk of her succumbing to her attraction to him. An attraction as alarming as it was alluring. Alex Lancaster wasn’t the type of man to take no for an answer, and her yes wasn’t given lightly these days.

Someone invaded her personal space.

‘Why don’t you drink that so I can buy you another one?’ the man in the suit said, leaning too close and wafting her with beer-fume breath.

Great, this was the last thing she needed. She looked up, unsmiling. Why did guys assume a woman alone in bar must clearly be waiting for them? He was cute enough, if you ignored the leer and the breath, but her body couldn’t muster one drop of enthusiasm for the predictable stranger.

The same body that had spent the entire day lusting after Alex Lancaster. The same body that still reminded her with soaked panties and chafed nipples that it had been three long years since she’d sought pleasure with another. Perhaps that was the reason Alex had got to her with little more than a raised eyebrow or the twist of his kissable lips.

Impervious to her go-away stare, Beer Breath slid one hand to the centre of her back and leaned over to reach for her phone, which was on the bar beside her untouched martini. Her hand beat his there. Just.

He pouted, swaying closer to bump shoulders with her. ‘I was only going to give you my number, so you can call me when you’ve finished stirring that one to death and I can buy you another.’

He raised bushy eyebrows, the leer widening.

‘Right…’ Libby shrugged, shaking his hand from between her shoulder blades. ‘But I’m fine.’

He grinned, signalling the barman.

Damn. He wasn’t going to give up without a fight. That bath and the beige walls of her room looked increasingly appealing now. She should at least try to sleep. She’d need all her wits tomorrow—dealing with Alex would sap every scrap of resolve she possessed.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late.’

The man occupying her thoughts swept up beside her on a cloud of freshly showered deliciousness, his hand taking a proprietorial hold of the back of her barstool and his smoky, heavy-lidded smile stripping her naked.

Alex.

‘Hi.’ Libby closed her slack-jawed mouth and swivelled to face him, turning her back on the stranger, never one to pass up a golden opportunity. She hated rudeness, but if Beer Breath was too stubborn or thick-skulled to take the hint…

Alex kept his stare on her, his smile genuine and warm enough to melt her underwear clean off, and then signalled the waiter with a flick of his wrist.

Libby sensed the moment when Beer Breath slinked away, and the hairs on the back of her neck settled—but only temporarily, because Alex hadn’t taken his eyes off her. In fact, he was looking at her as if he was seconds from devouring her whole.

She shivered, delicious tendrils snaking to all her erogenous zones. ‘What are you doing here?’ Libby took a slug of her previously untouched drink, the burn calming her enough to meet his bold stare with one of her own.

‘I came to invite you out for a late supper. I was on my way to Reception and then I spotted you here.’ His hand slid from the back of her stool, and he settled into the one next to her, passing his order to the waiter before returning his disconcerting focus to her.

She stared back, lost for words and missing the proximity of his hand on her chair. He was close enough that his warmth traversed the space between them, but far enough away that she battled her body’s urge to sway closer. And keep on swaying.

‘What?’ One corner of his mouth kicked up. ‘What kind of host would I be if I left you to fend for yourself on your first night in a strange city?’

She couldn’t help the snort that left her. ‘The non-stalker kind…?’

He took the jibe with a cocksure arch of one brow, sipping wine while his poised stare flicked over her face from feature to feature.

Libby flushed hot all over. The ‘stalker’ comment had been beneath her. He hadn’t once touched her, hadn’t bought her drink, hadn’t tried to grab her phone, hadn’t even chased away her unwanted admirer—he had simply given her the out she’d wanted. The rest was all her.

What was wrong with her? Rudeness to a generous host and influential employer? All because he’d awoken needs within her? Needs too long dormant. Needs she’d never had before. Needs threatening to overwhelm her in their intensity.

Hardly his fault.

He dropped the bland smile, and a small frown crinkled the skin between his brows. ‘It’s a public bar, Olivia. I’m being a gentleman. But if you don’t want company, just say so and I’ll leave.’

He shrugged.

Simple.

Of course he would. Alex Lancaster didn’t need to stalk women. They probably lined up, forming a polite, orderly, English queue.

She swallowed, her throat tight. ‘Thank you.’ She tilted her head in the direction of Beer Breath’s exit path. ‘He was about to become a persistent pain in my ass.’

He barely acknowledged the man in the suit, and his continued casual perusal made her limbs jittery and lodged a ball of restless energy low in her belly.

‘So, have you eaten? Dinner?’ One eyebrow lifted and he licked red wine from his plush lower lip.

A simple invitation. One she’d offer herself to a visiting business colleague new in town. Why, then, did it feel like more than an offer of a shared meal? Or was that simply her overactive libido filling in the blanks?

‘I’m not hungry.’ Her voice emerged as barely a croak.

No argument, no persuasion.

‘Tell me…’ He leaned a little closer, his stare a little more penetrating, searching hers. ‘Why the reluctance to work for Able-Active?’

Alex cut straight to the heart of an issue. She admired that. But no way could she explain her reticence without giving away a whole heap of personal stuff. Stuff she did her best never to think about.

She ducked her head away from his intensity, her sleeveless, lightweight blouse as cloying as a thick, woolly sweater.

He ploughed on. ‘You think I’m arrogant.’

A statement.

She shot him a glance, surprised to see amusement lingering on his face.

He gave another shrug, as if he had her all worked out. ‘I see it in your eyes.’ He rested his elbows on the bar, leaning closer. ‘I’d like you to extend your stay. All expenses covered, of course.’

‘Why?’ Her head spun, reeling from the arrogant request.

Hadn’t they already established that she wouldn’t roll over and do whatever he asked? If he didn’t seem to have a hotline to her long-dormant libido she’d laugh in his sinfully handsome face.

‘Able-Active doesn’t happen inside an office. I want you to experience it, to really understand my vision. I’d like you to stay a fortnight.’

He took another sip of wine, giving her time to respond.

Her jaw fell, her fidgety hand stilling around the stem of her martini glass. ‘Are you nuts?’

Clearly Libby was nuts, too, because for a fleeting moment she considered it. Then she sobered. Even if she wanted to jump when he clicked his fingers, she couldn’t. She had Sonya, her heavily pregnant partner, to consider. Yes, she could work from anywhere in the world with a Wi-Fi connection for short periods and, yes, she’d cleared her desk before flying to the UK, but a fortnight away from the office…

He laughed—a deep rumble that curled her toes and transformed him from sexy, assured businessman to sexy boy-next-door, all grown up. He turned his stool to face her, leaning back in a relaxed slouch, his thighs spread.

In invitation?

Libby’s eyes burned with the effort of maintaining eye contact and not succumbing to a visual tour of his denim-clad crotch. Time to be clear. If this working relationship was to be successful, he needed to understand a few things.

‘You know, I’m sure you’re used to it, but you can’t always have your own way.’

She plucked the olive from her drink, holding it between her teeth while she stared him down. Two could play Mr Lancaster’s game. If he thought she’d simper at his flattery, drop to her knees no questions asked, he wasn’t as smart as she knew him to be.

She bit into the salty olive, allowing her tongue to linger on her lips.

His pupils dilated—a subconscious tell over which he had no control. Then he shrugged, as if he didn’t care either way. But she knew that wasn’t true. Like her, he’d likely achieved his success by expanding control over all areas of his life. Personal and professional. But did he need that control, like her? Did he feel as if he was spinning off into the inky blackness of space without it, like her?

He tilted his head, his astute gaze leaving her mouth at last. This time when he met her eyes she wanted to curl up and hide.

‘I’ll make you a proposition.’ He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a sip while his words sank in.

Libby shook her head, determined to wrestle back the upper hand. ‘I’ve conceded enough to you in our short acquaintance.’

Alex bit his lip, hiding a smile.

Bastard.

He flared his nostrils, sucking in a breath and tilting his head back to consider the ceiling. Good. She posed a challenge—no doubt a novelty to someone in his position. She could almost hear the cogs working in his head.

‘Fair point.’ He rubbed his index and middle finger along his lower lip. ‘How about for every concession you make, I’ll make one too?’

He shifted, his thighs parting a fraction more, as if he were growing uncomfortable. Was she having a similar effect on him as he had on her?

His voice dropped. Slow. Deep. Intimate.

‘Equal. Mutually satisfying.’

He took another sip of wine. Waiting. Watching her over the rim.

Libby recrossed her legs, her thighs clammy. ‘A negotiation? I warn you, I’m good.’

Not that she had any experience with this kind of deal. How to be a high school sweetheart, how to be a girlfriend, how to be a fiancée—yes. But how to handle this searing sexual chemistry and keep enough distance to emerge unscathed? Could he tell she was making this up as she went along?

He grinned.

Thought he had this in the bag, did he?

He gave a slow nod. ‘I know that. Research, remember? The best.’ He leaned forward, closing the distance between them, his voice a low whisper, eyes aglow. ‘What do you say? Up for a little…adventure?’

Her mind raced, her heart beating its way into her throat.

Yes.

No.

‘It depends…’

Were they even still talking about work? Did it matter? Perhaps Sonya, Vinnie and her hormones were right. A no-strings dalliance was exactly what she needed—slake this intense thirst she’d thought long extinguished, then finish a rewarding and lucrative job and move on.

As if he’d read her mind, he said, ‘Come on.’

Libby leaned closer. His low voice called to her, zinging straight between her legs. From this distance, she could see his pulse flicking in the notch at the base of his throat, the dark hairs peeking over the open neck of his shirt, could smell the detergent he used on his laundry.

His voice continued—persuasive, tempting. ‘You’re a perceptive, intelligent woman…’

She braced one foot on the floor, her body swaying towards his as if she was hard of hearing and needed to lean closer to his tantalising mouth. Her hand landed on his thigh, steadying her balance, but the denim was a poor barrier to the heat and bulk of his taut muscles.

‘You feel this insane chemistry too.’ His stare smouldered, his breath tickling her neck.

She practically sagged into him. She wasn’t alone. Wasn’t imagining this. But should she act on it? Did she dare?

‘I want you.’ He held eye contact, his stark statement hanging in the crackling air between them. ‘Physically, professionally.’

He spoke as if he was negotiating a business deal. Calm, collected, poker-faced.

A tiny shrug of one shoulder. ‘Stay.’

He made it sound so easy—a foregone conclusion. And she was sorely tempted.

All the time they’d talked, he hadn’t touched her. His hands were still relaxed on the arms of the barstool when all she wanted to do was slide her fingers through his silky dishevelled hair and angle his head until he kissed her. Kissed away the doubt. Kissed away the memories. Kissed away the loneliness.

She sat back, her hand slipping from the rock-hard muscles of his thigh. Time to wrestle this back under her command. Get a grip of herself and this situation. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

The trouble was, lust had robbed her brain of its usual quick wit and all the negotiating skills she’d bragged about. Every single comeback or demand had fled her mind like sand falling through the holes of a sieve.

Perhaps she’d transmitted her thoughts telepathically to him, because he said, ‘You need control?’

Could he see her that clearly? Were her fears, her hang-ups, so clearly displayed on her face?

He’d dropped the smile, his expression now serious, as if he understood the momentous battle raging inside her. She wanted him too—had spent the day thinking about him, about what it would be like to feel his touch, feel his mouth, feel him move inside her…

The urge to give in to that curiosity, that need, was overwhelming.

He dipped his chin, ensuring that she saw him—saw both the sincerity in his stare and the flare of the same battle inside him.

‘I’m man enough to concede it. What can I do to give you what you need so we can both win?’

A silent groan had Libby’s eyes drooping as she took in a long, ragged breath. What an intoxicating offer. Could she do this? Separate business from pleasure? Keep things casual between them? On her terms? Give him a concession or two and take what he was willing to concede?

She opened her eyes to his continued stare. The slight flare of his nostrils was the only sign that he too experienced the anticipation that fluttered in Libby’s belly, bringing her to life.

Until she spoke, she was clueless as to how she’d respond. ‘I’ll give you a week.’

A week?

He nodded. So accommodating. So skilled at negotiating this fragile truce.

But she, too, could strike a pretty deal. Time to see how much he was willing to relinquish. Could he be a man of his word? Was he really interested in a deal? Did he want her enough to agree to her terms?

There was only one way to find out.

She leaned closer, her lips parting on a barely there gasp as their knees made contact. She dropped her voice, as he’d done. ‘If we’re working together…’ her eyes flicked to his crotch, still displayed before her ‘…and fucking, I won’t be bossed around.’

Another nod. Another delicious concession.

Her mind raced, searching for a compromise that, as he’d put it, would allow them both to get what they wanted. She’d never fought so hard. Her self-preservation demanded every inch of ground acquired.

The ultimate test of his mettle would come. Could he withstand what she had planned for him? Would her nerve hold?

Libby’s temperature reached boiling point, seconds away from spontaneous combustion. She shook her head slowly, commanding his full attention. ‘You won’t get your own way all the time.’

He shrugged again, the small half-smile returning. ‘If I had my way…’ he lifted his wine glass, taking a sip, his eyes slowly raking over her mouth ‘…I’d have fucked you at the top of The Shard this morning. Had you screaming my name with that sexy voice of yours.’

Her gasp sounded so loud she expected the whole population of the bar to turn in their direction.

He quirked a scornful brow. ‘Seems to me, you are the one getting her way, Olivia.’

Danger. He reeked of it. Not that her personal safety was in question. But she should run all the same.

Still he stared, his eyes flicking between hers. Still her breaths gusted in and out through parted lips. She held his searing eye contact. A challenge. Battle lines being drawn.

Finishing her martini in one swallow, she slid from the stool, coming to stand between his still spread thighs. She leaned close, her heavy ponytail falling forward, a few strands of hair getting caught in the stubble covering his strong jaw.

With her lips mere millimetres from his ear, she whispered, a thrill tingling up her spine.

‘Quid….’

Closer.

‘Pro…’

She could almost feel the fine hairs on his earlobe tickle her lips.

‘Quo…’

Leaning back, she took the key card from her purse and pressed it into his palm, turned on her heel and left the bar on shaky legs.

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